


His Bird Will Sing

by daftalchemist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Abuse, Burnplay, Eldritch Abomination Cecil, Erotic Electrostimulation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftalchemist/pseuds/daftalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Vale revolts against their corporate oppressors, and something of great value is taken from Diego; something that money can't replace. Night Vale itself, however, seems to have just the replacement he's looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Bird Will Sing

**Author's Note:**

> the character of Diego is used with permission from his creator, videntefernandez, and many thanks to her for it uwu
> 
> "pajarito" means "little bird" according to like 3 different translator websites so hopefully I'm not wrong about that

“No, no,” he tutted, twirling something not entirely unlike a remote control between his ring-laden fingers. They’d been at this for some time now, he and his new friend. What was his name? Something infuriating that put a bad taste on his tongue… ah, yes. _Cecil_.

Cecil, whose town had cost him a _fortune_ in damages and lost productivity. The exact dollar amount was still untold, though that was mostly because he’d threatened to stuff the insurance claims down the throat of whoever told it to him.

Cecil, who’d taken something… valuable from him. Much more valuable than money, if that could be believed. He hardly believed it himself, but there it was, and he knew how this pathetic, _rebellious_ man could pay for it.

He sat down at a desk of the richest mahogany, trimmed in the brightest gold, and kicked his feet up onto the desktop, nearly upsetting the gold-plated placard that stated his name, Diego Strex.

“Try it again,” he said with a voice full of encouragement and a smile that somehow managed to lack warmth despite being so wide and genuine.

Cecil, troublemaker that he was, had been brought to the office this morning and left to kneel on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. He was looking a little worse for wear--dried blood in some places and fresh in others--but he would live, which was more than could be said about… _some_ people. Diego’s smile faltered for only a second before he’d forced it back to its normal strength. He was a professional after all.

Cecil grit his teeth, his breathing labored and his voice strained, body shaking though it was impossible to tell if that was from sitting in such an uncomfortable position all day or the fact that his shirt had been torn wide open to make room for the electrodes that dotted his chest. The ones that had thin, long lines leading away from his body, across the floor, up over the desk, and ended at the remote control still being idly twirled between ring-laden fingers.

“The PTA,” he began with a voice that simply wasn’t able to mask his hatred and his anger, “has called… an emergency meeting. The Glow Cloud-”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Diego laughed and swung his long legs off of his desk, his gold-tipped shoes glinting in the failing evening light. “We don’t have a PTA here. We don’t even have _schools_. Looked into them once. Waste of money.”

He walked around the desk, catching the electrode wires on awards, pen holders, clocks, a phone; all gold, all dragged to the floor.

“Do you know what they _do_ in schools, Mr. Palmer?” Diego asked, tilting the beaten man’s chin upwards, enjoying the way he sneered in his face. “They _learn_. It’s… _unsavory_.”

He leaned back against his desk, pulled a cigar from the pocket sewn into all of his jackets specifically for holding cigars, and set down the remote just long enough to light it with a gold-plated lighter. He smiled, or rather continued to smile, and held it out to Cecil.

“Care for a taste?”

Cecil grimaced. “I don’t smoke.”

Diego laughed, light and carefree, gently caressing a cheek that felt so familiar, cigar smoke swirling around hair that he was certain would be as soft as he remembered. “Neither do I.”

Cecil eyed the red hot end of the cigar warily, wearing a familiar face but styling it wrong. There was fear where Diego remembered excitement; bright purple eyes that were bloodshot and frightened where Diego remembered orange as warm as the sun itself. It took him a moment to notice that his cheeks didn’t have that familiar sting he normally got from smiling, his sharp teeth instead framed by an irritated snarl, only this time he found the expression a little more difficult to fix.

“Give me some different news,” he hissed, holding the cigar a little closer. He could see the glow of the embers against Cecil’s skin, a yellow haze over sweat and purple blood.

Cecil tried to cringe away from the heat but Diego’s fingers quickly wound under his jaw and held him tight, and he sucked a fearful breath between his own equally sharp teeth. Diego missed seeing an adoring gaze and wide smile, but he supposed terror and hatred worked just as well.

“I don’t _have_ different news,” Cecil growled, his courage admirable considering his position. Diego cocked an eyebrow, smiled just a bit wider, and pressed the burning tip of the cigar to Cecil’s cheek just long enough to make him cry out at the fresh burn just below his eye.

“Then _think_ of some,” Diego cooed, clutching Cecil’s jaw a little tighter, enjoying his heavy breathing and the tears stinging at his red-rimmed eyes. He did not, however, enjoy the breathy chuckle that escaped those bruised and bloodied lips.

“If you want someone who sings your praises again,” he sneered, “you’re going to have to find a new bird.”

Diego remembered then why his other hand had a solid weight in it, and he pulled away just before crushing his thumb against the button on the remote. Cecil’s defiant look immediately melted away as he body arced and he cried out in pain, enough volts to kill a man racing through every twisted organ he had in his body. But Cecil wasn’t a man, Diego knew. He wouldn’t die from this. It didn’t take a team of highly trained scientists to tell him how this… _double_ would react. He already knew, and it made him laugh.

“What makes you think I haven’t already found a replacement?” he replied so very sweetly, releasing the button and stroking a tear-stained cheek.

“ _No_!” Cecil snarled. “I am _not_ like him! I will _never_ be like him!”

Diego’s laugh grew louder, a genuine feeling of mirth that grew from deep within his chest, blotting out the agony he’d been feeling since he’d gotten the news just days before.

“You’re more alike than you think, pajarito,” he grinned and pressed the gold-tipped toe of his shoe to Cecil’s groin, eliciting the surprised gasp he’d been expecting to hear from those bruised lips. “In ways you’ve never even known. Ways your _scientist_ never even showed you.”

“Y-you’re wrong!” he said, trying so hard to deny words he was already realizing were true as a gold-toed boot ground circles into the growing bulge in his slacks.

“You’re so certain?” asked Diego, trailing the cigar down Cecil’s body, so close to his skin without touching it. He took great pleasure in the way he shivered and whined, trying to hard to restrain himself from the unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, sensations. He tapped the end of the cigar, sending embers and ash cascading down Cecil’s bare and bloodied chest. “Why don’t you let me show you how well you can sing, pajarito?”

The cigar singed the thin, wispy hairs trailing down Cecil’s stomach as deft fingers unbuttoned his slacks, pulling the zipper down and letting the fabric fall away to reveal… well, something out of the ordinary. This was just a _different_ out of the ordinary than Diego was used to; five slithering tendrils, black and dripping, cowering under his gaze. He’d _thought_ doubles were supposed to be identical, but he supposed he couldn't be shocked to find different results than expected when he’d never tested the hypothesis to begin with.

“No matter,” he said mostly to himself as he began peeling the electrodes from Cecil’s chest and wrapping them around the squirming things. “I’ll just need to use all of the electrodes instead of two.”

Cecil made no move, said no protest, instead sitting stiff as a board and staring straight ahead, though if it was out of fear or defiance, Diego didn’t even care to know. Either suited his needs just fine, though if he felt like being honest with himself--and he rarely did--he was hoping at least _some_ of it was a hint of excitement that the radio host was desperately trying to snuff out.

He found the answer he was looking for when he leaned back with a pleased grin and pressed the button again, hearing nothing but a gasped moan before Cecil was doubled over, forehead to the floor, shuddering and whimpering into the carpet.

“Ah, so you _do_ like it,” Diego chuckled, shoving Cecil onto his side with his foot. There was no way he would let this rebel hide his shame now, not after what he’d done. “As I expected you would.”

It was an interesting sight. Cecil’s face was twisted, contorting itself to bite back moans that kept escaping anyway, but instead of scales and spikes, he was growing eyes and tentacles. This was something Diego had not expected, but supposed it would suffice anyway. Two different monsters wearing the same human skin was identical enough for his needs. He had to admit, despite how much he’d loved feeling cold, scaly skin beneath his fingers and hard spikes digging into his chest and arms, the prospect of five wriggling dicks to play with instead of just two was tempting.

He released the button only to turn a small knob and press it again, enjoying the screech it pulled from lips that had just moments ago been pierced with razor sharp teeth. Those things… _tendrils_ maybe, whatever this creature wanted to call them, were writhing anxiously, thickening, darkening, filling with the same sort of inky substance that was dripping from them. Or so Diego supposed anyway; he still hadn’t run any tests on it. That would come later, of course. Better to space out his fun rather than use it all up in a single day.

It was interesting to find that despite these differences, the way Cecil moved, the way he writhed and bucked, the way he moaned and gasped were all the same as….

Diego released the button just long enough to gently stroke Cecil’s cheek, the glowing red end of the cigar reflecting in the dark pools of his eyes, and he felt something growing deep in his chest that he’d lost since he’d gotten the news some days before.

“You really are so similar,” he murmured, dragging a finger along his jaw, tilting his chin up. He pressed the button again, one final surge of electricity, and Cecil wailed as thick, black fluid spilled from his swollen tendrils and soaked into the carpet.

Cecil gasped for breath, shuddering fiercely and whimpering almost imperceptibly. The numerous eyes were closing, returning to just two, red-rimmed and filling with tears again. Diego put down the remote, set the cigar on his ashtray, and shrugged out of his suit jacket, wrapping it around the radio host. It was hard to tell if the look in his eyes was confusion or gratitude, but Diego would settle for either.

“You sing well, pajarito,” he smiled, tilting Cecil’s chin towards him just enough to kiss him softly. Just once, just for a moment before standing and walking towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some… business to take care of.”

He paused in the doorway, smiling brightly over his shoulder. “Namely my new pet’s _former_ owner.”

 


End file.
